


Like a Thin, Unraveling Thread

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Needy Derek, Reverse Knotting, Rimming, Sensory Overload, self-checkout machines are the devil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd thought he was done with this.  For years — since Paige, since long before the fire that had taken his family — the continuing trauma of his life had kept him from going into heat.  He'd never thought to experience this particular state of unbalance ever again.  </p><p>But then Stiles happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Thin, Unraveling Thread

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been working on this forever, and finally finished it. My first real, to completion A/B/O. Whee! You may feel free to throw some confetti. Enjoy!
> 
> Special thanks to Thraceadams who let me bombard her with my countless issues with getting this fic on track. You are a rockstar, bb!

Derek stared into his refrigerator, blinking in bemusement at the crusty-lidded mustard and assorted expired condiments that lined the shelf. 

How was it possible for him to have lived in the loft long enough to have _expired condiments_?

Shaking off that thought, he considered the rest of the contents and then just started throwing everything away. He was pretty sure he'd bought those eggs sometime in April – it was now the end of May – so he didn't feel too wasteful in throwing them away. The same with the cold cuts. 

An hour later, the fridge was completely empty and scrubbed out clean, just waiting for a new influx of fresh food. Standing up, Derek dusted off his hands on his sweatpants and looked around his kitchen… and frowned. Realizing the cleanest part of the entire room was the inside of his refrigerator made his skin just _crawl_. 

Running the tap until the water that poured from it was hot enough to scald, he plugged up the sink and added enough bleach that his skin tingled as his healing factor kicked in every time he dipped his bare hands into it. Unable to find a proper cloth, he took off his shirt — which was stained and dirty anyway — and ripped it into quarters. 

By the time every surface in his kitchen gleamed, he was on a roll and just moved straight into the bathroom with his ripped up tshirt and a large mixing bowl filled with hot, fresh bleach water. He scrubbed and cleaned until even the water stains around the overflow drain in the bathtub were gone. 

Needing to clear his head of the bleach fumes he'd been breathing in for the past few hours, he grabbed some window cleaner and went out onto the balcony. There he attacked the windows until they literally sparkled in the sunlight. 

And _still_ , the urge to clean and keep cleaning until either his fingers bled or the loft was completely spotless burned through him. His clothes went into the laundry, with his sheets and blankets in a pile by the washer, just waiting their turn. He swept and vacuumed and dusted until the living room smelled of the cloying lemon scent of the furniture polish he'd found beneath his sink with no recollection of having purchased it. 

He stopped just short of throwing the old, worn sofa with its odd smells over the edge of the balcony. The only thing that stopped him was the thought that someone could possibly walk beneath it after he let it go, and he really didn't want to be responsible for any more deaths in this town.

But for all the energy he'd expended cleaning the loft from top to bottom, he still felt wired. Fucking _spring_ , with its warm temperatures and beckoning sunlight. It made his flesh squirm with the need to be _doing something_. But there was really nothing left for him to do. His entire apartment was completely spotless. With a sigh, Derek tugged on a shirt and grabbed his keys. 

He needed to go grocery shopping anyway.

~*~

The front wheel on his cart squeaking and wobbling set Derek's teeth on edge. He barely paid attention to the food that went into the basket, just picked up some of _everything_ and spent five minutes comparing toothbrushes before grabbing one that looked identical to the one he'd ruined scrubbing the grout in his kitchen and bathroom.

Turning his overloaded grocery cart toward the checkout lanes, he growled under his breath to see that only one was open, with two old ladies chatting amiably as the cashier slowly rang up the first woman's purchases. There was no way he was patient enough to wait for the ladies to be finished buying their cat food and other assorted items. 

Which just left him the self-checkout. 

Normally he wouldn't go through there with so many items, but besides himself, the cashier, and the two old ladies, there wasn't anyone else in the store at two o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon. So Derek squared his shoulders, pushed his rattling, squeaking, knocking cart in front of the self-checkout register and started ringing up his purchases.

It all went fine until he tried scanning a package of taco seasoning. And then the stupid fucking machine refused to accept the fact that he'd put the seasoning into his bag. Over and over, the mechanical female voice told him to, _"Please place item in the bagging area."_

Finally, with a muffled shout of impatience, he muttered under his breath, "I did put the fucking thing in the fucking bagging area!" And then he put his hand into the bag and leaned his fist against the bottom of it, trying to impress upon the stupid fucking thing that he'd put something with weight into his bag so it'd stop nagging him.

_"Incorrect item detected in the bagging area. Please remove last item and scan it before proceeding."_

Shoving his hands into his hair, Derek was about to shout in frustration when he sensed someone behind him. Whirling, he saw a different cashier standing behind him, a half-pitying look on her face. 

"Having problems?" the cashier — whose nametag read _Denise :)_ with the stupid sideways smileyface and everything — asked.

"Yeah, it just. It's hung up on my taco seasoning." Derek blew out a short breath, nearly vibrating with tension as the cashier nodded and swiped her card, hitting a bunch of special 'employees only' buttons that appeared for her.

"All right, I'll get this sorted for you. You know, you really shouldn't use this for more than fifteen items. I mean, I understand you're in a hurry, really I do," she said in a rush as she flashed another half-commiserating smile at him, "but it's actually slower in the long run."

Derek just stared pointedly at the lone open register and the remaining old lady who was currently digging through her coupon holder and removing about fifty or so carefully cut out slips of paper.

"Yeaaaah." Denise winced and shrugged. "Well, at least we're not any busier than this. You got lucky."

Derek just grunted, and started handing her items from his cart as she rapidly scanned them through. He couldn't help but notice that the stupid machine never gave her a bit of trouble, not a single nagging reminder to, _"please place item in the bagging area."_

As soon as the last item was bagged and returned to his cart, Derek dug into his wallet for some cash and handed over five dollars to Denise. "Thanks," he said gruffly. "I would have ended up putting my fist through this machine without your help. Get a cup of coffee on me."

Denise bit her lip and stared down at the money before shrugging and taking it. "It's all part of the job, really, but I'll never pass up free coffee. Just, you know, maybe don't wait 'til the last minute to shop next time? It goes smoother if you're prepared ahead of time."

Derek blinked, opened his mouth to ask what she was talking about, then ended up just grunting and nodding at her as she was called away over the loudspeaker.

~*~

When he got home, he carried everything up and down the stairs instead of using the elevator, hoping to get the energy that continued to thrum through him to settle down. But by the time he was done putting everything away and starting a roast in his ancient crockpot – where the hell had he gotten that thing, anyway? – he nearly wanted to claw his own skin off to get the crawling sensation to subside.

Growling, he ran back down the stairs and out of his building and just… kept running. He ran through town, and into the Preserve, and through neighborhood after neighborhood, until sweat was pouring from him. He knew if he kept pushing himself, he'd end up passed out next to some suburban soccer-mom's van from pure dehydration. 

That was when he realized he was only about two streets over from Stiles' house, and it just seemed logical at that point to stop in for water. He didn't even bother knocking since he could hear Stiles moving around in his room, singing off-key. He let himself quietly in the front door and went to the kitchen where he just put his head under the tap and drank straight from the faucet. 

When he'd finally quenched his thirst, he leaned against the counter, blinking past the woozy feeling of standing upright after being bent over too long after a run, and shook his head to dislodge the water that had splashed into his hair from the faucet. Deciding to let Stiles know he was there, he went silently up the stairs and eased his bedroom door open, intending to surprise him.

But as soon as he opened the door, the crawling, itching, _electric_ feeling under his skin intensified a hundredfold until he felt like he couldn't breathe. All his focus zeroed in on Stiles, who was standing perfectly still in the middle of his bedroom, staring back at Derek with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Derek," Stiles whispered and edged his foot forward, but the sound of his voice, or his movement, _something_ broke the dam of Derek's control.

With an anguished whine, Derek rushed forward, grabbing Stiles around his waist and walking him back toward the wall behind him, pushing him up against it and just _attacking_ him. Sight, sound, taste, smell, _everything_ in Derek narrowed to a pinpoint until only Stiles existed: the texture of his lips under Derek's; the slick slide of his tongue; the contours of his body; and the little broken sounds he was making as his fingers dug through Derek's wet hair, twisting and pulling at it.

And the _scent_ of him, _god_ , it was like a drug. Heady, and thrilling, and filling Derek with a sense of thrumming excitement. Derek growled, tugging against Stiles' hold and biting at his lips. He dropped his mouth to Stiles' neck, to where the blood beat so close to the surface, and set his teeth to it, pushing closer and ever closer, his body a solid wall trapping Stiles' writhing body, just breathing him in.

It wasn't until his teeth broke skin, until a tiny drop of Stiles' blood burst over his taste buds and lit him up inside, that Derek realized what was happening. What had been happening _all day_. The itching, burning _need_ under his skin that had driven him half out of his mind. 

He was in fucking _heat_.

And from the smell of things, his heat pheromones had triggered Stiles'. Fucking fuck _fuckity_ fuck.

Slowly wrenching his jaw open, he took one last, healing lick of Stiles' throat and then started peeling his body away from Stiles', ignoring the whimpering and pleas that spilled from Stiles' lips with every inch he gained. He had to stop himself, had to stop _this_ , before it was too late. He couldn't take advantage of Stiles this way, he thought grimly as he slowly, painfully broke away, easing his fingers off Stiles' hips where they'd been digging in, guiding him in grinding against Derek's swollen, aching cock.

"Derek!"

But Derek could only shake his head, horror filling him at what he'd almost done as he backed away toward the open window. Leaping out it, he covered his ears as he dropped to the ground, trying to cancel out the noise of Stiles begging him to come back.

Though it was a longer route back to his loft, Derek turned toward the Preserve and ran flat out, ignoring the pain of his engorged cock and the throbbing _need_ that burned bright under his skin. As he neared the middle of the preserve, his feet automatically took him north until he found himself staring, bent over with his hands on his knees and his lungs working like a bellows, at the clearing where his house had once stood.

The county had demolished it the previous year, but he could still see it in his mind's eye. The burnt out husk of a house superimposed over the beautiful, huge _home_ that had sheltered his family. His pack.

The pack his actions had killed.

Derek sat down on the ground, ignoring the twigs and rocks that bit into his ass as he leaned his forehead against his knees. 

He'd thought he was done with this. For years — since Paige, since long before the fire that had taken his family — the continuing trauma of his life had kept him from going into heat. He'd never thought to experience this particular state of unbalance ever again. 

His entire day made so much more sense now, from his compulsive cleaning to the conversation with Denise at the store. God, he was so lucky he'd gone shopping when there wasn't anyone in the store upon whom his out-of-control hormones could have fixated. 

With a sense of buzzing weariness beating at him, he pushed himself back to his feet and set off at a slow walk toward his loft.

~*~

By the time he made it home, the sun was within an hour of setting and his roast could be smelled from two floors away. At least that was one thing that was going to turn out right in this insane fucking day.

It wasn't until he was closing the loft door behind him that he heard it: another heartbeat. _Stiles'_ heartbeat.

His blood at once freezing and boiling in his veins, Derek turned and felt everything in him focus on where Stiles was standing in the door leading out onto the balcony. He looked half-angry, half-apologetic, his wide, generous mouth falling open as he stared back at Derek. 

Blinking, Derek took note of the little things: the fan that Stiles had set up to blow his scent out the door instead of letting it fill up the loft; the plates set out on the table, just waiting for the meal he'd prepared. It was kind of unreal how very _domestic_ the scene looked, even if Derek was responsible for the bulk of it.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked, and just the sound of his voice made everything in Derek jolt.

It wasn't until a faint tingling sensation filled his head that he realized he was panting, hyperventilating at just the sight of Stiles, at seeing him in this place he'd prepared for a potential mate. "I…" He licked his lips, his mind gone foggy. He had no idea what he'd meant to say, if he had meant to say anything.

"I'm going to text Scott and Dad, tell them to stop looking for you. Okay?" Holding out one hand in a calming gesture one would use to settle a jumpy animal, Stiles carefully pulled his phone out of his back pocket and typed out a message with his thumb. Derek's heightened, feverish senses heard each tap of finger to screen, and the zooming sound when Stiles hit send was so loud he flinched.

"I'm going to come in now," Stiles said, sliding his foot forward in a move that made the earlier scene in his bedroom replay it self in Derek's head. In high definition.

Derek made a low sound in his throat, a broken whimper, and shook his head. Licking his lips made him moan and shiver, and he looked down to see that he had goosebumps all over his skin. The hairs on his arms were standing upright, like he'd touched a live wire. "Stiles," he whispered, holding onto his sense of self by a thin, unraveling thread, "you can't… you have to get out. I don't want to—"

Stiles' face crumpled; it was just a flash of expression, but Derek was too hyper-aware not to notice it. "Yeah, no, I get it. Just. We were worried. When you left…" He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, his eyes downcast, and Derek had taken three steps toward him before he realized it.

"I… don't want to _hurt_ you." Derek forced the words out, knowing he would hate himself later for giving away too much, but unable to bear the weight of Stiles' self-conscious dismay. 

Stiles' eyes flashed back up to his, and Derek could see it now. Could see that his pupils were just a touch wider than normal, that his skin was more flushed. He still couldn't smell him — was actively trying _not_ to smell him, actually — but the little signals his body was putting out were enough to send Derek's blood surging through him, battering at his control until it was the thinnest wall filled with gaping holes.

"Stiles…"

"I thought about it," Stiles whispered, his eyes closing slowly. "I thought about just stripping. Waiting for you on your bed. I knew you wouldn't be able to say no."

Derek was shaking all over, his entire body tightening with pure need at the mental image Stiles' words called up.

"But I couldn't do it. Too many people have taken your choices away from you. I couldn't be one of them."

Fingers tipped with claws digging into his thighs, Derek just panted, shaking his head. "Too long," he whispered through a mouth gone desert-dry, knowing the words didn't make any sense.

"I know." Stiles met his eyes again and shrugged. "You told Scott, Scott told me. It… it happened to me too, after the thing with the nogitsune. It took almost six months for my cycle to heal. That was… I don't even really remember my first heat after that, and it's not as bad for omegas as it is for alphas. I mean. I was still able to take care of myself, you know? I can't imagine how bad this must be for you."

Derek closed his eyes, dug his claws deeper into his muscle until blood soaked his sweats and he could string more than two words together. "You have to leave. I don't want to hurt you." His voice sounded gritty to his own ears, threatening. The words were too sharp, the spaces between them too deliberate.

"You won't. You won't hurt me, Derek."

Opening his eyes, Derek let Stiles see the way they burned blue in the twilight-dark room. 

Stiles made an impatient noise; the odd softness he'd been exuding since Derek walked in sloughed away and suddenly he was _Stiles_ again, unwilling to put up with any bullshit. "You don't scare me, big guy. And let's be honest here. You can't do this on your own. You're not an omega who can just get off with a knotting dildo and satisfy this fucked up urge. You need to be soaked in omega pheromones for the length of your heat. You need to nest and growl and bite — and fuck, that's just for _humans_. There's no telling how much stronger the alpha imperative will be in a _werewolf_. Especially one who's suffering through their first heat in almost a decade."

Derek took two stumbling steps to the side, shoulder slamming into the wall. He slid down until he was on his ass on the floor, wildly looking around the room, trying to find something to focus on that wasn't Stiles. He needed to control himself just a little longer. Just long enough to let Stiles run past him — something feral within him leapt at the thought of chasing Stiles down, lunging on him, sinking teeth into his neck.

"Stiles." Derek let his fangs slice through his lip. "Go. I'll…"

"Derek…" He could hear the sound of Stiles swallowing, could sense his disappointment. "I… fine. I'll go. I'll have my dad bring you some pharma pheromones." Derek tracked Stiles' slow, dragging footsteps as he walked toward the door. Halfway there, though, he stopped, and his heartbeat went jagged before settling into a faster rhythm. "You have Reese's Puffs."

Forehead wrinkling in confusion, Derek grunted. "What?"

"You… on top of the refrigerator. You have Reese's Puffs. Cereal."

Derek worked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to remember how to form words. Turning his head toward Stiles, he let his eyebrows draw together. "Hnn?"

"You hate the taste of chocolate mixed with peanut butter. You only eat whole grain cereal. You…" Stiles stepped closer to Derek, reaching a shaking hand out to point into the kitchen. His fingers twitched as he got a thoughtful look on his face. "I'm the only one who eats those. You didn't get them for anyone in the pack because _I'm_ the only one who eats those. Scott eats Fruit Loops and Isaac likes Raisin Bran because he's a freak." Quick as a flash, Stiles was darting into the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator and the cabinets.

And as he ran past, his scent hit Derek, damn near bowling him over. Snarling at the wild need that flared anew and burned bright in him, Derek rolled to his feet. With three bounding steps, he caught Stiles, pinning him to the kitchen counter.

But Stiles didn't even flinch. He just arched his back, pressing his ass into Derek's groin, mumbling encouragement and praise. "So good, Derek. Such a good provider, taking care of your omega. All my favorites. And everything's so clean, yeah. You got it all ready for me, didn't you? Mmm. Worked all day on it, I bet. Got sweaty, let yourself fucking _steep_ in your heat scent before you came to see me. God, Derek, fuck. You even cooked my favorite dinner." Stiles reached behind himself, burying his fingers in Derek's hair and guiding his head to the side of Stiles' neck. "Can you smell me? Smell how much I want you. How ready I am for you. I'm so wet for you, Derek. I'm _soaked_ and just... _wide open_. Want to get on my knees for you, show you how much I want you."

Derek was beyond words, beyond thought. He could only taste the salt of Stiles' skin and smell the thick, earthy musk of his scent. Hear the sound of cloth ripping and feel the coolness of the tiles as they slid down onto them. 

Stiles was shaking, nearly vibrating beneath him, and some part of Derek realized they were both naked below the waist. His fingers were slick and warm, and he was losing time because they were slick and warm from _being inside Stiles_ , who was on all fours on his kitchen floor, keening and rocking backward into Derek's touch.

Stiles' hole was swollen with arousal, dusky pink and glistening. As Derek watched, a drop of slick bubbled out of Stiles, sliding down his taint to catch against his small, underdeveloped omega testicles. Derek caught the drop on his finger and brought it to his mouth, licking it off. Stiles' flavor burst across Derek's taste buds and he whined, high and desperate, before curling over and putting his face right in Stiles' ass. 

He buried his tongue in Stiles, licking as far into him as he could, chasing the flavor of his slick and swallowing it down. It was… indescribable. His moans of satisfaction curled through the air, weaving in and around the broken sounds of pleasure Stiles was making. The smug sense of rightness that rose up in him would be alarming at any other time, but now he reveled in it. In the animalistic knowledge that he was pleasing his chosen mate.

"Fuck, Derek. Fuck! Fuck me, oh my god. Put your knot in me. Breed me, Derek, fill me up with your—" Stiles' begging cut off as he dropped his upper body flat to the floor, curving his back and _presenting_ himself so beautifully to Derek. "Please," he whispered, so low only the fact that Derek was a werewolf allowed him to hear it.

Derek reluctantly pulled his mouth away from Stiles' ass, sliding his open, panting mouth up and over the curve of it, along the knobs of Stiles' spine until he could press his lips against the back of Stiles' neck, the head of his dick nudging eagerly against the back of Stiles' thigh. His fingers massaged Stiles' hole, re-slicking him with his body's own secretions. "Stiles."

Stiles jerked under him, a laugh bubbling up. "Yeah. Yeah, Derek, I'm here. Glad to see you are too. I thought I'd lost you for a minute there."

"Stiles," Derek groaned again, needing… something. Something he couldn't have articulated on a good day, much less now when his brain had clearly abandoned him somewhere in the Preserve.

"Please," Stiles moaned, hips hitching against Derek's. "Please please please. _Please_."

And that was too much. The broken begging snapped something within Derek, and he surged forward, shoving his aching, swollen cock into the perfect, wet grip of Stiles' ass. He only made it halfway in before his knot started swelling, and he was able to get in two short, aborted thrusts before he was fully engaged inside Stiles' body.

But Stiles was obviously right there with him, because as Derek's knot popped through the last time, Stiles' rim began swelling around him, pressing down, the vice-like tightening of the thin muscle providing perfect pressure against Derek's knot. Stiles threw back his head, nearly knocking it into Derek's, as he began to come, the thin liquid of his release splattering all over the floor. It was the final piece, locking them together as Stiles' passage gripped and released, milking Derek's cock, drawing out both of their orgasms.

Derek, overwhelmed, sank his teeth into the back of Stiles' neck, holding him down, holding him still as his hips jerked, still rutting even though his cock was trapped tight. "So perfect," he mumbled around his mouthful of flesh. "So perfect. Made for me."

"Yes," Stiles groaned, the word sounding wrenched from deep in his throat. "Made for you. Need you. Only you."

They didn't feel the discomfort of the tile floor, only the absolute rightness of the moment. Eventually they'd get up. Stiles would roll his eyes, but allow Derek to finger-feed chunks of roast beef and potatoes and carrots to him. He'd lick the drippings from Derek's hand, and share the flavor in slow, drugging kisses.

They'd even, late in the night, make it all the way to the bedroom and have slower, more controlled sex on the bare mattress.

But for now... For now, they just lay there, content in each other, in their combined scents. They let their panting breaths raise condensation on the cool tiles as their bodies relaxed into the boneless feeling of complete satiation.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, it makes sense to me that if trauma can disrupt a woman's menstrual cycle, it would do the same to a heat cycle in the A/B/O world. And since Derek's life is just filled to the damn brim with trauma. Well. He's a little backed up. Thank goodness for Stiles, amirite? *wink wink, nudge nudge*
> 
> Also, in my version of A/B/O it is the Alpha who feels the overwhelming drive to provide. Therefore all that domestic cleaning and nesting and shit? That's on them, to help them show a potential mate that they are capable of providing for their comfort as well as their other physical needs.


End file.
